


AU Bandwagon

by LadyRhiyana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Tolkien crossover, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, smaug!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Sherlock AU drabbles and one shots. </p><p>Chapter 1: Enfant Terrible. A Fashion Designer AU, in which Captain John Watson, RAMC, owns a designer jumper. Chapter 2: Smaug!Lock fluff. Chapter 3: Domesticity at 221b, Harry Potter AU style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enfant Terrible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Captain John Watson, RAMC, has a designer jumper. (Angst)

Dr John Watson was well-liked among the RAMC quartered at Camp Bastion. He was calm, quiet, steady, the kind of eminently capable man on whom you could place the utmost reliance. His hands never trembled, his nerves were never shaken, and when he grounded himself and braced his shoulders, his fellow doctors and nurses truly believed that nothing would ever shift him. 

So it was disconcerting to see him one night, looking down with an odd, devastated expression at the ruin of his oldest, most shapeless and most comforting jumper – it had been washed over and over again, worn so many times that it simply fell apart. 

Bill Murray, one of the nurses and one of the doctor’s closest companions, came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, John, it’s only a jumper after all,” he said. “You can buy another one next time we’re on leave.”

John looked up, smiling a little shakily, his eyes were still strangely sad. “Not like this one,” he said.

****

It was the topic of conversation at the next weekly poker game. John was on shift, but the others, enjoying a hard-won break, were gathered round the table, gossiping as always. 

Murray told the story of Dr Watson and his tattered jumper finally giving up the ghost, carefully omitting all mention of his devastated reaction to it. Others had noticed him wearing the jumper – it had been a particular favourite of his, and he had worn it all the time. 

“It was designer wear,” said one of the other nurses, with more fashion sense than Murray or any of the others. “I always thought that so strange – Dr Watson is hardly the type to worry about style. And Holmes clothes are always so expensive.”

****

When John Watson was 23 years old, a promising young intern, hard working, dedicated, calm and steady under pressure, he fell desperately in love with a brilliant, self-destructive madman. 

Sherlock Holmes was 21 years old, a prodigal genius driven by passion and the constant search for beauty, elegance and perfection. He was erratic, unpredictable, given to soaring flights of brilliant inspiration and black depths of lethargy and depression. Already, he was a chain smoker with a growing taste for cocaine. 

The chemistry was devastating. Mutual interest led to fascination led to mindblowing sex, which led to Sherlock moving into John’s tiny one-room flat, bringing with him colour and fascination and late-night marathons of crazed inspiration. John found himself swept up in Sherlock’s fascinating, sometimes bizarre wake; he tried not to let his internship suffer, but it was hard to concentrate when Sherlock demanded so much of his attention.

Sherlock could get no rest from his mind, his brilliance sparking inconsistently; he began to rely more and more heavily on cocaine, becoming more and more erratic even as John begged him to stop. John tried his best, but he, too, was young and impatient, lacking the added steadiness that hard-won maturity and years of experience would bring; he raged when he should have held his breath, said nothing when he should have pushed. 

It ended very badly. 

****

John went back to his studies with a grieving heart, walking away with nothing but bitter memories, a more comprehensive knowledge of fashion and design than a British male ought to have, and a jumper designed for him by Sherlock Holmes himself, which John could not bear to give up. 

Sherlock spiralled further and further down into addiction until Mycroft stepped in and forced him into rehab. The fashion world was abuzz with rumours and conjecture, but the tabloids themselves were strangely silent. Mycroft had that much power, at least. 

John went into the army and took his designer jumper with him, part comfort blanket, part memento. When it fell apart after endless washing and hard wear, he buried his face in it and wept.


	2. Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smaug!lock fluff. Because there can never be enough.

“The dragon,” Bilbo said, not quite believing it himself, “has promised not to eat anyone, and to ask politely before taking sheep or cattle. I’m willing to pay for any livestock he takes.”

That last had offended Smaug’s sensibilities greatly: the dragon had balked at parting with even the slightest part of Bilbo’s – and therefore Smaug’s – treasure; Bilbo had a hard time convincing him that paying for his supper was the price of life in a civilised, peaceful land – that, or raising your own herd, which might be a bit problematic with a gigantic dragon in residence. 

They had eventually compromised: Bilbo had purchased a flock of sheep and paid someone at the other end of Hobbiton to keep them, and drive one or two over to Bag End each day for Smaug. Still, Smaug grumbled, curling up tightly around the chests of troll-gold and the assorted silver plate and antiques that he had claimed as his own when he first moved into Bag End. 

If he ever thought wistfully of his vast hoard, abandoned when the dwarves finally retook Erebor, he did not show it; he professed himself to be most satisfied with his new life in the Shire, green, prosperous, complacent, full of self-satisfied hobbits and curious hobbitlings, where no men or elves or dwarves would try and kill him and steal his treasure. 

And most of all, he was satisfied with Bilbo’s company.


	3. Domestic harmony, wizarding style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic harmony - HP AU.

_“I don’t even want to be a wizard,” Sherlock sulked. His shirt was untucked, his green and silver tie half undone, his hair a mess of wild curls. John couldn’t help but smile. “Magic is a lazy solution. Who needs to think when you can simply wave your wand? It’s completely irrational and utterly unscientific. The man of reason and logic should have no use for magic.”_

_“Well, I think it’s brilliant,” John said._

**

Long decades later, John still thought magic was brilliant. 

One lazy Sunday morning, he ambled down the stairs, yawning hugely. He opened his eyes wide when he saw the mess left by Sherlock’s latest experiment. 

“Christ, Sherlock!” he snapped. “How on earth did you – oh, never mind.” Swearing under his breath, he stamped back upstairs to fetch his wand to clean it up. A swish, a flick, and the unspeakable mess vanished; life at 221b was certainly much easier than it could have been, had he and Sherlock been ordinary Muggles. 

221b was a lovely old flat, solid Victorian bones with eccentric plumbing and tangled wiring. He supposed they could have easily fixed the tangled mess, but it reminded John of Hogwarts’ shabby charm and Sherlock – well, Sherlock had been raised in an ancient pureblood mansion and thus had no concept of reality whatsoever. 

Instead, they had simply woven layers of interlocking wards and enchantments into the walls and floorboards. Old stone and brick soaked up magic much easier than modern plastics; they had laid down a mixture of simple household spells and more complex wards, from fireproof charms in the kitchen where Sherlock liked to experiment, heating charms in the winter and cooling charms in the summer, to powerful defensive wards strengthened obsessively by John after the incident with Moriarty, to which Sherlock added in his constant attempts to keep Mycroft out. (The elder Holmes – for all his pretence at indolence – broke through these wards with an ease that truly infuriated Sherlock.) 

Sherlock’s couch was positively wreathed with charms of comfort and ease; for all his talk of the illogic and laziness of magic, Sherlock enjoyed the luxuries it afforded. John swore the Coat was enchanted to swirl and flare dramatically. 

For both of them it was as easy and as comfortable as their decades old companionship.


End file.
